It's All In Your Head: Part Sixteen

by sevenall

In the weak light, Elizabeth could see that Bishop, Remy and herself were covered in blood. Remy's eyes were glazing over, and the pulse she felt under her fingers was thin as a thread.

"We will not trade", Bishop answered, with something that could only be described as desperate courage or equally desperate stupidity.

"Do not be a fool, pup", Mr Sinister told him. Bishop stiffened at the use of the nickname. "He is very nearly dead. Would you prefer him that way? I will save his life if you leave him to me. Those are the terms of the trade."

"A mad geneticist I know", Elizabeth said carefully, "would just have taken him anyway. Why this negotiation, Sinister?"

"Your opinion, as your genome, is of limited interest to me", he said. "What I do, I do for my own reasons."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Dear Elizabeth. I don't suppose you have ever heard of a gene library. No? And I gather you are not familiar with compression codes, like young Katherine. Rest assured that I will not harm Remy. His DNA contains my complete gene library. What he did to my test subjects was marginal, I will not punish him for such a trifle. Now, what will it be, Bishop? We have very little time."

Remy stirred. His head came up and black and red eyes tried to focus.

"Father..."

It was only a whisper. Something very much like tenderness softened Mr Sinisters features for a moment.

"Yes, Remy. I'm here", he said.

The pulse under Elizabeth's fingers disappeared. Bishop bowed his head.

"Take him," he said.

There was a blinding flash, and Mr Sinister and Remy were gone.

"Wait! What about us?" Bishop screamed into the empty air.

The disembodied head of Mr Sinister reappeared in front of them.

"That was not included in the deal", he said, then vanished again.

"That was smooth", Elizabeth exploded. "We're in a dead-end situation with Remy bleeding to death, one of our worst enemies turn up and we happily let him take Remy away. And now we're still in the same dead-end situation minus Remy! Was that smart? Was that even remotely intelligent? How the hell did you survive in your so called future? Why didn't you just leave me in that cell?"

"The answers are no, no, damned if I know and I'm seriously starting to wonder", he snapped back, his nerves in no better state than hers.

At that point, the com unit came to life. She held it out to Bishop, switching the small microphone to broadcast, and they listened together to codes and static.

"They must have found the virus", he said. "Their security is disengaging and engaging. The system is reset before it goes on-line again. They are going to find us, take us up there and try the transplant on us. That's why we had to get you out of there."

The gravelly road and Braddock Manor towering above her. Three stories above them, the FOH squad was running down the hall. They had disabled the virus that sent ghosts through their computer system. They now had all the information on the intruders. Elimination would be carried out according to the Xavier protocols.

The gravelly road became a bridge. The cherry trees were in full bloom. A man and a woman approached the bridge together. The woman was Kwannon. The man was Bishop, although younger. He stopped and she crossed the bridge without him. At the other end, she turned to face him and bowed slowly. He stared at her for a long time before returning the bow.

<This never happened.> Elizabeth stated.

<It did. In Israel. You don't remember, because you weren't there.>

<Where?>

<It's not so much where as when. It was the Age of Apocalypse. Bishop was there, and I was. We went to the same war, but different places.> Kwannon sounded sad. <We never met again.>

<You died.>

<Yes.>

<So you're doubly dead.>

Silence.

<Most people only get one chance, Kwannon. Why do you want to go back? Matsuo has lost all honour. He would not welcome you. And even if he would, if you would perform his assassinations for him and bloody your hands, do you really think I'd help you do that? Get real. You're dead. I was a fool to invite you to Braddock Manor, but I'm uninviting you now. You've stayed much longer than you were invited.>

<You can't.>

<Sure I can. You're an empath and a murderer. I can do without those two talents, thank you very much. The rest of what you are, you've stolen from me. How pathetic. Where is your honour, Kwannon? There was very little in your life with Matsuo, and there is none at all in your parasitic living.>

"Psylocke? What is going on, woman?"

Elizabeth couldn't answer him. She saw the men open the hatch. She saw Kwannon on the bridge, eyes crazy and wild, as her sword shattered Braddock Manor, and the shards of a childhood faded away. But most of all, she saw herself, by the ancient lake, under the new moon, as she raised her white arms and called into the wilderness. She was the unicorn and the maiden, the yin and the yang, fire and ice that seared alike, oh, she was so much more than the vessel that contained it, and she wondered how she could have forgotten. She sang out to the stars in her Otherworld voice and they arranged themselves into pentagrams across the sky. Old magic it was, older than humanity, and it knew no mercy.

A tidal wave rose, only it was not water, but white fire, flooding her mind. She felt eight fingers on the triggers, the intent of eight minds and she took them, so completely and with such finality, that it was as if they had never existed. She almost took the ninth mind, too, but recognised Bishop's mind signature in time to turn back.

Kwannon screamed. It was an awful sound, filled with rage and hate and loneliness. She was still on the bridge, holding the sword with hands blackened and blistered by burns. Whenever she swung the sword, the wall of fire would retreat a few steps, then roar forward again. The flames licked hungrily at her hands and face, but she seemed not fully aware of it. Or else she was in shock.

<Surrender, Kwannon>, Elizabeth told her. <You can't win. You're only hurting yourself.>

<I refuse to die in this manner!>

<The problem with you is that you refuse to die at all>, Elizabeth snapped.

Kwannon was busy swinging the sword and couldn't answer.

<Look>, Elizabeth said, <you've helped me a couple of times, and I appreciate it, sort of, but you should face that you're really truly dead. I need the space in my head, or I'm going to die. And, while I'm terribly sorry and all that, I still prefer me being alive and you being dead to the other way round. So, why don't you give up already?>

<Look>, Kwannon mimicked her, leaning on the sword, <would you prefer being toast sooner or later? Because, me, I certainly favour later. And unless you can call down a damn lightning bolt from the sky to strike me dead, I could probably stand here forever, just to annoy you.>

Elizabeth did possess the means to call down lightning bolts and a couple of other things, including toads and lizards, but she supposed she could see Kwannon's side of it.

<I thought you aspired to more>, she said mildly. <Annoying me seems like a pretty weak reason to go back. Why are you defending this bridge, by the way? Are there not enough artefacts and memories of Matsuo around this place?>

And then, unforgivably late, she understood. She let the flames die down, although the spell was not finished yet.

<Matsuo isn't the reason, is he? We both know what a slimy bastard he can be.>

Kwannon laughed, a short, bitter bark.

<It takes more time than you spent with him, to learn exactly what kind of bastard he is. But, no, I didn't go to all this trouble for his sake. Or for yours. If I'd known what you were doing with the magic voodoo shit, I'd killed you while I had the chance.>

Elizabeth thought of explaining to Kwannon that Otherworld magic was as far from voodoo as one could get, then decided against it, as the other woman went on.

<But you saved Bishop, for which I thank you.>

<You loved him, didn't you?>

Kwannon made an impatient gesture.

<You Westerners. I had my duty, my obligation. He had his. We both knew this. What was between us needed not be said.>

<You wouldn't defend this bridge if you didn't think there was a chance you could cross it together.> Elizabeth drew a deep breath, then plunged right ahead. <Would you like to do it? He is right beside me. But after that...you understand it's...>

<Nothing personal. I do understand. Again, I thank you. I am in your debt. And as I have no honour left myself, I swear by *his*, to do what is right.>

<Bishop's honour is good enough for me>, Elizabeth said quietly.

<I would never disgrace myself before him.>

Elizabeth didn't think she would.

Cherry trees in full bloom in a Japanese garden. Two warriors stood together on the bridge, while time flowed as water below it. Distance and years blurred the image, but certainly they spoke, even touched. When the moment came, he stood by her side, with his own katana held high. She looked up at him, perfect understanding passing between them. Her blade flashed briefly in the sun before she made the first vertical cut.

Afterwards, he closed her eyes and wrapped her in his coat. Petals were falling from the trees. He made a move to brush off a few from her cheek, but changed his mind. He wiped the katana and laid it gently down beside her, then left. Snow began to fall, as soon as he was out of sight, the snowflakes unmelting and perfect on the dark coat and her cold face.

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